“Let you go round the town,” said Sweeny to Peter Walsh, “and find out where the fellows is that came in with the boats that’s at the quay this minute. It’s time they were off out of this.”
Peter Walsh left the shop. In a minute or two he came back again.
“There’s Miss Priscilla’s boat,” he said, “the Blue Wanderer. You’re forgetting her.”
“They’d never venture as far as Inishbawn in her,” said Sweeny.
“They might then. The wind’s east and she’d run out easy enough under the little lug.”
“They’d have to row back.”
“The likes of them ones,” said Peter Walsh, “wouldn’t think about how they’d get back till the time came. I’m uneasy about that boat, so I am.”
“Tell me this now,” said Sweeny, after a moment’s consideration. “Did the young lady say e’er a word to you about giving the boat a fresh lick of paint?”
“She did not. Why would she? Amn’t I just after painting the boat?”
“Are you sure now she didn’t say she’d be the better of another coat?”